


The Misadventures of Hellfire & Brimstone

by minervamoon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Hijinks & Shenanigans, Historical Inaccuracy, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, What Was I Thinking?, probably, with horses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22627207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minervamoon/pseuds/minervamoon
Summary: When Crowley was forced to ride for business, he had to resort to summoning up a hellbeast that would acquiesce to taking the form of a horse.  They always took the form of big, black jobs with eyes like flame and hooves that struck sparks.De rigueurfor a demon, but still annoying because the hellbeasts rarely behaved better than the animals they were mimicking.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	1. Prologue

Crowley hated horses. He despised them. To him, they were nothing more than a giant pile of neurosis on four legs. (The fact that there are those who would describe Crowley himself as a giant pile of neurosis on two or sometimes no legs is neither here nor there.) Crowley’s hate of horses stemmed from their utter fear of him, which would have made the demon quite pleased if it wasn’t so bloody inconvenient. No matter how docile or well-mannered the animal, when Crowley got near them they turned into wide-eyed, ears back, nostrils flaring balls of terror that could and would try to trample Crowley in a second. Riding one was out of the question, and getting them to pull a carriage with him in it required judicious use of staying downwind of the animals.

When Crowley was forced to ride for business, he had to resort to summoning up a hellbeast that would acquiesce to taking the form of a horse. They always took the form of big, black jobs with eyes like flame and hooves that struck sparks. _De rigueur_ for a demon, but still annoying because the hellbeasts rarely behaved better than the animals they were mimicking.

**540 A.D.**

Crowley gave a hard yank on the reins, pulling the beast’s head to the right. The horse snorted and shook his head, angling back to the left. Crowley muttered curses under his breath.

“Listen,” growled Crowley through gritted teeth. “I summoned you out of the Pit, and I can put you right back in there. You hear me?” Black ears swiveling back towards him was the only sign the hellbeast gave that he had indeed heard Crowley. “Good. Now, when I say to go right, you move your bloody arse to the right!”

Before Crowley knew what was happening, the horse beneath him bolted right. He was nearly unseated by the sudden jolt of movement and could do barely more than hang on as the beast thundered off the path and through the underbrush that caught and snagged and scratched at Crowley. He tried in vain to pull the horse back under control, but the beast was having none of it. He continued to barrel on no matter how Crowley pulled back on the reins.

Then as suddenly as it had started it ended. The horse stopped dead in its tracks save for a buck forward that pitched Crowley over the front end of the beast. Crowley let out a surprised and rather undignified yelp as he was momentarily airborne without the aid of his wings, then immediately thwarted by gravity as he rolled down a scrubby incline into a shallow stream.

“That is it!” sputtered Crowley as he got his feet under him. He slogged out of the stream, clothes dripping wet, black cloak so soaked it was almost pulling him backward. “The Pit’s too good for you! One snap of my fingers and you spend the rest of eternity as demonic glue! You want that?” asked Crowley, scrambling back up the incline and sliding down halfway for each bit of progress he made. He flailed out for the horse’s dangling reins, only to have the beast step back out of his reach and meander several feet away. “Obviously you do!”

“Cra-Crowley? Is that you?”

Why him? Crowley asked himself after he heard the all too familiar voice of an angel. That angel. The angel. He let his body go limp and slid back down the slippery hill, half hoping he’d slide all the way back down to Hell.

“Crowley? Are you hurt?” asked Aziraphale from somewhere above him. Appropriate.

“‘M fine,” muttered Crowley into the weeds.

“You look like you could use some help.”

“What are you doing here?” asked Crowley, finally looking up to find Aziraphale unsurprisingly resplendent in whites and pale dove grays. He looked as though he was puzzling out how to get down to Crowley. 

“I heard a shout. You, I imagine now that I’m here. What happened?”

Crowley didn’t answer. Telling him the hellbeast threw him was embarrassing. “You going to give me a hand out of here or not, Angel?”

“Oh, yes! Of course.” Aziraphale left but quickly returned with the reins of his own mount, a dapple gray creature, gripped tightly in one hand. Keeping hold of the reins, while the horse was already looking nervously around with ears turning to catch all sound, Aziraphale carefully made his way down the embankment. “Here, take my hand.” 

Crowley clambered up the side of the hill and caught Aziraphale’s hand with his own. Only then did he realize how caked with mud he was. Aziraphale took a firm grip on his forearm and hauled him up, clicking his tongue as he did. His horse, noble and intelligent animal that it was, obediently backed up, pulling them both onto level ground. 

“Now, there we are,” sighed Aziraphale, giving Crowley a once over. Crowley looked down at himself and grimaced at the layer of mud covering his black tunic. He spent several seconds trying to wipe himself off before remembering he could just make it go away. No, snapping the hellbeast into glue was too good for him. Crowley would do it the human way.

Crowley snapped his fingers and put himself, and Aziraphale’s sleeve, back to rights.

“Oh, thank you,” said Aziraphale as his sleeve was miraculously clean again. Crowley grumbled something about not thanking him as he followed the sound of the angel’s voice and found him standing with the traitorous hellbeast, petting the abomination’s nose like he was a dog. And the hellbeast seemed to be enjoying it. “Such a lovely animal. Is he yours?”

“Not for much longer,” answered Crowley, giving the beast a pointed glare.

“That’s a pity.” Aziraphale’s voice was sweet as he continued to dote on the horse. “What’s his name?”

“Doesn’t have one.” Crowley wasn’t giving him a name. A name would complete the summoning and bind the two of them together. Yes, it would make the hellbeast slightly more obedient, but much harder to just get rid of when Crowley didn’t need him anymore.

“He looks like a Brimstone to me,” said Aziraphale as Crowley made his way over to him.

Two things happened at the same time after Aziraphale said those words. Crowley mentally agreed that it would make a good name for the hellbeast and a sensation much like a bear trap snapping closed came over the demon, complete with a ringing clang of metal on metal. “Bugger me,” groaned Crowley aloud.

“Pardon?” asked Aziraphale, a shocked flush coloring his pale cheeks.

“Not like that.” Unless your game for it was not said, nor was it even thought by either of the two immortal beings who had spent the better part of their time on Earth pointedly not thinking things like that about the other. “You named him, now I’m stuck with him.”

Confusion crossed Aziraphale’s face. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“This isn’t a horse you’re cooing over, he’s a hellbeast; a lesser minion of Hell that can take the shape of what you need. I usually just send them back when I’m done with them, but now this one’s been named and I’m stuck with him.” The hellbeast in question gave an indignant snort right in Crowley’s face. Crowley’s grip tightened on the reins, but before he could exact any revenge on the horse, Aziraphale’s voice cut through.

“Well, that doesn’t sound like a hardship. In fact, it seems more reasonable than having to summon up a new one every time you need a horse.” Aziraphale gave the now monikered Brimstone another gentle pat. Brimstone butted Aziraphale’s cheek with his nose, making the angel give a startled but happy laugh. Glue was too good for him, too good by half, Crowley mentally seethed. “Still spreading foment as the Black Knight?”

It took Crowley several seconds for his mind to switch from thoughts of equine evisceration to the new subject, but he finally made the leap and said, “Nah. Boring work. Got a human to take over for me. Still prancing about as a knight of the Round Table?”

“I do not prance,” said Aziraphale with an unamused expression that tried to be a frown but came out more of a pout. “And no. I’ve been reassigned to the south.”

A sudden thrill of excitement thrummed through Crowley. “South? I’m heading south myself.”

“Really?” Aziraphale seemed to perk up slightly at that.

“Wouldn’t mind a spot of company for the trip.” Crowley lilted his voice so his words could be taken both as a statement and a question. He caught one of Brimstone’s blood-red eyes watching him and gave the reins a hard shake.

Aziraphale mulled Crowley’s words over for several seconds before finally saying, “I don’t suppose there’s any real harm in traveling together for a piece, is there?”

“Just two travelers on the same stretch of road,” agreed Crowley. That got a smile and a nod from the angel. Crowley had to fight not to grin back at Aziraphale. With another nod, the angel moved to go to his own horse. Brimstone’s eyes flitted between Crowley and Aziraphale and back again, then his ears went back. Crowley’s smile was replaced with a glare. “Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong,” he hissed at the horse. Brimstone gave a snort that sounded far too much like a scoff for Crowley’s liking. Crowley held up his empty hand, fingers poised to snap, and whispered, “glue.” Brimstone gave another snort but only pawed the ground with a hoof as Crowley rounded him to mount. 

It took a few seconds of unceremonious scrambling, but Crowley got himself seated on Brimstone’s back again. “Couldn’t you think of anything more cliche than Brimstone, Angel?” asked Crowley to cover up his embarrassment. 

Aziraphale, already on his horse, answered, “If I’d known I’d be completing a summoning ritual, I wouldn’t have said the first thing that came to mind. But really, Brimstone does suit him.”

Crowley didn’t reply to that. He was eyeing the angel’s perfectly well-behaved horse. Some blessed bloodline, or was it just Aziraphale’s presence affecting the animal? Either way, the animal was calmer now than before, even as Crowley urged Brimstone up alongside it. He pulled the reins up sharp and looked around, realizing he didn’t recognize anything. 

“I-uh-got a bit turned around,” he admitted softly. “You know which way?”

“We’re not far from the main road,” said Aziraphale, pointing back behind Crowley. “Once we find it all we have to do is follow the fork on the left; that’ll take us due south.”

“Left?” mumbled Crowley. Brimstone let out a loud whinny. “Shuddup!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know, discorporating you is still an option,” grumbled Crowley. 
> 
> Brimstone bared his teeth, ears back. His whole countenance said, _Try it, snakeboy._

**994 A.D**

Crowley couldn't make heads or tails out of the map he had. Nothing looked right, and he was starting to wonder if it was even for the right continent. Why did he keep getting lost? That thought had him turning a golden-eyed glare to the black horse nosing at the grass nearby. 

“Why is it you never have a good sense of direction when it would be useful?” asked Crowley to Brimstone. Brimstone lipped at a tuft of grass, then thought better of it and ambled a few feet, pointedly ignoring Crowley. “You can’t still be angry about that whole horse merchant thing? That was over a decade ago. I was going to summon you back after I got the money.” Not that Crowley needed the money, but it had seemed like a good bit of chaos to do. Sell the man a horse then the horse vanish at some point. Whenever Crowley got around to needing a horse again. 

Brimstone had not found the idea amusing and had been in a sulk since.

“You know, discorporating you is still an option,” grumbled Crowley. 

Brimstone bared his teeth, ears back. His whole countenance said, _Try it, snakeboy._

Crowley stalked over to the hellbeast, rolling up the map as he went. “None of this would be an issue if you could teleport yourself places you’ve never been. But you can’t. So if anyone should be pissed off right now it-” He paused as Brimstone turned from him and went to peruse a small cluster of wildflowers. “Oi! Don’t walk away while I’m yelling at you!”

Crowley stormed after the horse, and the beast moved into a high-stepping trot. Crowley snarled and stopped moving. “Fine! Have it your way. I’ll just go on my own. Have fun in the middle of nowhere!”

Brimstone stopped and pawed at the ground before shaking all over, jingling his tack and trappings.

“Oh, you want me to take all that off? Nah,” replied Crowley, wrinkling his nose. “It’s not like you _need_ me or anything, right?” Crowley turned and started walking. “Maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll summon you when I get there,” he called back. 

Crowley had only gone a few feet when he heard familiar hoofbeats behind him. He stopped and Brimstone roughly nudged him with his nose right between Crowley’s shoulder blades hard enough to make Crowley stumble. Crowley grimaced but turned. “Got it out of your system now?”

Brimstone let out a hot huff of air but presented his side to Crowley. Crowley took the peace offering and climbed aboard. He was barely astride when they heard a startled shout carried on the breeze. There was something familiar about the sound.

Crowley wanted to think that it couldn’t be him, but it always was. He didn’t know how it was possible, but he’d stopped fighting it. They just kept finding each other. Maybe it was the whole “hereditary enemies” thing Aziraphale kept spouting off. Opposite poles of a magnet, always pulling towards-

No, not going to think like that, Crowley told himself. That was bordering on mushy, and he did not do mushy. Brimstone was already in motion and Crowley urged him to go faster. He’d gotten a bit better at riding for pure self-preservation and thankfully stayed on as the hellbeast went into a full gallop.

They reached the source of the shout quickly. Crowley only had time to make out one thing, Aziraphale at swordpoint. Crowley leaned across Brimstone’s back. The demon horse gave out a loud, deep bugle that made grown men shake in their shoes, and that’s exactly what happened. The bandits’ faces went ghostly pale as they all turned to the source of the sound. Aziraphale turned too, confusion giving over to a bright smile as he saw who it was riding to his rescue. Crowley’s heart was pounding in time to Brimstone’s hoofbeats as he leaned over, arm outstretched. Some demonic miracle kept him in his seat as Brimstone charged straight through the bandits who yelped and jumped out of the way in surprise. Aziraphale raised his arms and Crowley’s arm caught him around the waist. Those warm arms wrapped around his neck as he hauled the angel off the ground and onto Brimstone’s back in front of him. White-gold curls brushed Crowley’s face, smelling of rose water and a scent that was wholly Aziraphale. He barely resisted the urge to bury his nose in them. Not the time. Never the time.

“What are you doing here?” asked Aziraphale as they rode pell-mell away from the bandits.

“Saving you. What does it look like?” snapped Crowley in exasperation.

“I had everything under control,” said Aziraphale while he shifted his skirts and threw a leg across. Crowley tightened his hold around Aziraphale’s waist to keep him on the horse. 

“Of course you did. That’s why you let me rescue you.” The heat of Aziraphale’s body seeped into him as he held the angel close. It was a glorious, heady thing.

“It was either that or get plowed over by Brimstone. Hello, dear,” he added, patting the beast’s neck. “I’m not blaming you.”

“Oi!”

“He’s a terrible driver.”

“One, it was his idea to charge straight in. Two, when have you ever seen me-”

“Chariot races, dear,” said Aziraphale over his shoulder, his face so close. He frowned and craned his neck to look behind Crowley. Crowley did not focus on those lips, or the curve of soft, creamy flesh as his neck muscles moved. “Oh. They’re following us.”

“That wasn’t driving, that was being stuck on that chariot while the horses tried to run away from me.” Not his best idea. At the time he’d thought scared horses would run faster, which was true. But they were also bloody impossible to control.

Crowley realized Aziraphale was frowning at him, blue eyes flashing annoyedly over his shoulder. “We’re being followed,” said Aziraphale slowly.

“Oh. Well, let them try. Right, Brimstone?”

Brimstone gave out another bugle of challenge and his feet started moving even faster than before. One good thing about hellbeasts, they weren’t confined to the limitations of mortal animals. Crowley threw a glance behind him to see the bandits on their horses growing smaller behind them as Brimstone picked up speed.

“Why are they bothering?” grumbled Aziraphale. Crowley brushed a hand over his curls under the guise of getting them out of his face. “They have my bag and horse.”

“With the way you look they’re probably angling to ransom you off, or worse.” Crowley couldn’t help the angered growl at the thought of the second option. “What were you doing traveling alone as a female?”

“I wasn’t alone. I hired a man, but he turned out to be working with them.”

Crowley abruptly pitched forward, his front pressing against Aziraphale’s back as Brimstone stopped dead in his tracks. It took a few seconds for Crowley’s brain to start back up. “Whu-?” he asked looking at the sharp dropoff above the wide expanse of lake before them.

“I think we missed the turn,” said Aziraphale calmly.

“Why can you never look where you’re going?” snapped Crowley to Brimstone. He pulled back on the reins to get the beast turning.

“Don’t yell at him. He’s doing his best.” 

Crowley threw his head back and groaned to the clouds above him. The sound of hoofbeats was closing in behind them. This little stop had cost them distance.

“Do you know how to use that?” asked Aziraphale. Crowley looked into his face and Aziraphale nodded his head down to the sword at Crowley’s hip.

“It’s-er-more for the aesthetic,” replied Crowley, feeling sheepish now. It was a rather garish-looking thing with a silver snake wrapped around the pommel.

Aziraphale dismounted with a huff and drew the sword from the sheath. “Just stay behind me.”

“Angel, we could just-” Crowley held up his hand, fingers readied to snap. The bandits arrived then, some of them chuckling at the sight of Aziraphale in his fine dress, sword in hand.

Aziraphale squared his shoulders and tightened his grip on the sword. “Yes, but I’m rather miffed at the moment,” he said.

“Oh. Well, then by all means.” Crowley gestured to the four men approaching them. Brimstone turned an eye to Crowley and snorted disapprovingly. “Hush,” said Crowley softly as Aziraphale readied to take on the first opponent. “Let him have his fun.”

And fun Aziraphale did have. His cheery smile never left his face as he thoroughly trounced the humans. But really, what did a handful of humans hope to accomplish against the Guardian of the Eastern Gate? 

Aziraphale didn’t hurt them, only their pride, and he sent them running with their proverbial tails between their legs.

“Well, I do think they’ll be reconsidering their life choices now,” said Aziraphale, brushing off his skirts.

“At the very least they won’t take a woman as an easy mark,” chuckled Crowley. He swung off Brimstone’s back and sauntered over. “You could have really put the fear of God into them if you’d wanted.”

“Oh, no need for that, dear. They just needed a bit of a push in the right direction. Thank you for the loan,” Aziraphale added, holding out the sword. 

“Don’t thank me,” grumbled Crowley. Their fingers brushed as Crowley took the sword back. It set off a whole flock of butterflies in Crowley’s stomach. He coughed and missed the sheath twice before he got the sword put away.

“No, really. Things were going dreadfully until you and Brimstone showed up.” Aziraphale placed his hand on Crowley’s where it still rested on the hilt of his sword. 

Crowley’s heart sped up triple time. He knew sounds were coming out of his mouth, but he had no idea what order they were in. All he could focus on was Aziraphale’s smile.

A very strong nudge between his shoulder blades knocked Crowley’s brain into gear. It also knocked him straight into Aziraphale. He fell completely into Aziraphale, unable to get his balance back. Aziraphale caught him easily, gentle arms and warmth surrounding him. Crowley could have stayed there until the end of the world. But instead, he got his feet under him, muttered an apology to Aziraphale, and turned to Brimstone, murder in his yellow eyes.

“Oh, don’t be cross with him, Crowley. You did shout at him a great deal,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley’s rants and threats died instantly on his tongue. Brimstone gave one of his snorting, horsey laughs which nearly revived the litany of curses Crowley had been about to hurl at him. Crowley grumbled under his breath and grabbed Brimstone’s reigns. “When he’s gone,” he whispered, “you are demonic dog food.”

“What was that, dear?” asked Aziraphale. 

“I-er-I said that we’d give you a lift if you were in the mood.” 

Brimstone let out another braying laugh.


End file.
